


spinning in infinity

by ShowMeAHero



Series: as the ghost begins to bleed [11]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Georgie Denbrough Lives, Hurt/Comfort, Jewish Richie Tozier, Kid Fic, Light Angst, M/M, Married Life, Mike Denbrough, Minor Violence, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Stanley Uris Lives, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 18:54:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21397009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero
Summary: Eddie presses his back against the disgusting wall in Neibolt, staring into Richie’s face. The moment feels suspended, as if neither of them are moving. Time seems to stand still as they look at each other.“Richie,” Eddie says, but his voice is slow and far-away. Eddie reaches up with a hand that feels like it’s moving through molasses.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris
Series: as the ghost begins to bleed [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1493912
Comments: 40
Kudos: 457





	spinning in infinity

**Author's Note:**

> Happy early Thanksgiving!!
> 
> Title taken from ["You Can Call Me Al"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uq-gYOrU8bA) by Paul Simon.

Eddie presses his back against the disgusting wall in Neibolt, staring into Richie’s face. The moment feels suspended, as if neither of them are moving. Time seems to stand still as they look at each other.

“Richie,” Eddie says, but his voice is slow and far-away. Eddie reaches up with a hand that feels like it’s moving through molasses. He touches Richie’s face, then.

“Are you okay, Eddie?” Richie asks, echoing, deep. He looks frantic, panicked, fearful. “Are you okay? Eddie—”

“Richie,” Eddie tries again. The world is dark, and hazy, but something cuts in between their faces. They both look up, and Stan’s above them, but he’s a child again. Eddie shudders, looking up at the horrifying, contorted spider’s legs coming out of Stan’s face, and Richie says something while he’s staring.

“What?” Eddie asks. Stan’s head falls, and Richie collapses backwards. Eddie can only stare, paralyzed, frozen as Bill screams at him and Stan’s face tries to tear Richie’s throat out. Eddie tries to move, tries to do literally _ anything, _ but he can’t. Richie’s dying, Stan’s dead, Bill’s screaming at him, and Eddie can’t do _ shit _about it.

“Do you want him to die?” Bill’s voice echoes. Eddie shakes his head, terrified. He’s so afraid, he can’t even get himself to move. “Richie could’ve died—”

“No,” Eddie says, gasping. His chest feels like it’s being crushed. “No, no, he didn’t die—”

“Georgie’s dead,” Bill says, “Stan’s dead, now Richie’s dead—”

“Richie’s not _ dead,” _ Eddie shouts, and he finally shoves past Bill, finally, _ finally _able to move. He falls over Richie on the ground, but Richie doesn’t move, which isn’t right. Eddie remembers this, and Ben had helped Richie stand, and he was coughing, but he was alive.

“What the fuck?” Eddie demands. He lifts Richie’s head, feels for a pulse in his throat. There’s nothing. Eddie shakes him. “Richie! Richie—”

“You let him _ die!” _Bill shouts at him. Eddie doesn’t look at him, just focuses on Richie, keeps shaking him.

“You let Richie die?” Bev’s voice asks, breaking in the middle. He can hear her sobbing, but, when he lifts his head, she’s not there. Stan is there instead, an adult now, standing over them. He has a kitchen knife in his hand, just like he had when he’d tried to kill Richie and Eddie in their bedroom that night, when Richie had brought him back the first time. He lifts the kitchen knife and Eddie tries to grab him, but he can’t move again. The knife flies through the air and lands between Richie’s eyes. Eddie screams.

“He may never wake up,” Stan says, looking down at Richie’s corpse. He glances up at Eddie, his face rotted. “He’s in a medically-induced coma, but he may never wake up.”

“We couldn’t save Richie,” Ben says. Eddie wants to scream, but he still can’t move, staring down at Richie’s dead body below him, the knife between his eyes. His glasses are smashed right next to his head. “I knew about it and I still couldn’t save him. I never called the police. I should have called the police. Was it his mom or his dad?”

“What?” Eddie asks, finally lifting his head. Ben’s standing there with Richie’s parents standing over him, and Eddie almost shrinks back before he remembers they’re supposed to be dead. “Wait—”

“Was it me or her?” Richie’s dad asks. Eddie can feel his heart pounding in his chest, fear pulsing through his veins.

“I heard I have grandbabies,” Richie’s mom says, and when Eddie looks to her, blood spills out of her mouth. Eddie jolts backwards to avoid the splash of it, but it splatters across Richie’s face.

Richie’s body moves, and Eddie looks down, shouting, “I knew it! Richie—”

Richie’s not looking at him. His eyes are hazed over white, and he starts to lift into the air while Eddie screams.

“No, _ no, _ Mike, _ help me!” _ Eddie shouts. He can _ see _ Mike, he’s _ right there, _ but he reaches out and Mike doesn’t even look at him. _ “Help me!” _

“Eddie,” Richie says, and Eddie looks up at him, grabs his hands.

“Richie, Richie, hey, hey, I’m here, I’m so sorry, Richie,” Eddie tells him, words spilling out of his mouth faster than he can even think of them. Richie doesn’t look down.

“Eddie,” he says again.

“Richie, I’m sorry,” Eddie tells him. His voice breaks. “Richie, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry—”

“Eddie, wake up, man,” Richie says, and Eddie opens his eyes to find Richie leaning over him again. His eyes are normal again, magnified by his glasses, and he’s sleep-tousled and breathing and _ alive. _

“Richie,” Eddie gasps. He throws his arms around him and holds him close. Richie’s arms come around him in return, one hand rubbing up and down his back.

“It’s okay, Eds, you’re alright,” Richie murmurs somewhere near his ear. Eddie belatedly realizes he’s crying, and he rubs at his face with his hands, pulling back from Richie. “Whatever it was, it’s just a dream, alright?”

“We were in Neibolt,” Eddie tells him. “We were— Oh, God—”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Richie repeats. He reaches out and runs his thumb under Eddie’s eye, tracking up into his hair. “We made it outta Neibolt, buddy. You’re okay now.”

“It wasn’t me,” Eddie says. Richie frowns.

“What do you—”

“It was you,” Eddie cuts him off. Richie glances at the bassinet, but Eddie’s already talking faster than he’s thinking. “I let Stan attack you and you would’ve died if Ben hadn’t come in and saved you. I almost let you _ die.” _

“I _ did _let you die, Eds,” Richie reminds him.

“You did not _ let me die,” _ Eddie spits, “I died _ near _you, that’s different. I almost was the reason you died, Richie. You would’ve died if it had only been me there—”

“It wasn’t only you there—”

“What if it _ is _next time?” Eddie demands.

“What next time?” Richie asks. “You’re getting worked up over nothing, babe, it’s not gonna happen again! I’m not mad at you, it’s fine, you froze up and that happens.”

“It is not _ fine,” _Eddie snaps.

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you, Eddie,” Richie exclaims. “I’m not upset! It doesn’t bother me—”

“Well, it _ should _fucking bother you,” Eddie interrupts. Richie reaches out and pulls him in again, and Eddie lets him, turning his face into Richie’s neck and sighing. He calms down, remembers his breathing, and sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not fi—”

_ “Eddie,” _ Richie cuts him off again, and Eddie quiets. “I’m not mad at you. I don’t even really think about it all that much. You froze up, dude. We all do it. Bill already chewed you out and we’ve talked about it before. Eds, I swear, I’m not mad. I’m _ not.” _

Eddie shakes his head, holds onto Richie with both hands. Richie doesn’t have a shirt on, but his skin is still warm from sleep, and it’s grounding. Richie strokes Eddie’s hair.

“I am,” Eddie tells him. Richie leans back against the pillows, still stroking his hair, Eddie’s head on his chest.

“You’re mad?” Richie asks.

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “I’m pissed off at myself. I didn’t do fucking anything to help you. Bill was screaming my name at me and I just— I— I just stood there! I didn’t do jackshit, Richie—”

“And ten minutes after that, you threw a fence post through Pennywise’s fucking skull and saved me from the Deadlights,” Richie reminds him.

“But what fucking good am I if I can only protect you _ some _ of the fucking time, Rich?” Eddie demands. Richie’s hand stops. “Richie?”

“Sit up,” Richie says, and Eddie does, mostly because he’s confused and curious about what Richie’s doing. Richie takes Eddie’s face in his hands and turns them so they’re facing each other. Their noses are mere inches apart.

“Richie, what—”

“Don’t you ever say that again,” Richie says firmly.

“Say what?” Eddie asks, bewildered. He doesn’t even know which part of it Richie’s talking about.

“‘What fucking good are you?’” Richie asks, and Eddie understands. He can’t get a word in, though, because Richie continues, “What the _ fuck _ do you mean, _ what fucking good are you? _ You are my fucking _ everything, _you dipshit. I don’t need you to fucking— stab monsters or any shit like that. That’s not a normal fucking thing, that’s horrifying, Eds, anyone would freeze up.”

“Bill didn’t—”

“I am _ talking,” _Richie says.

“You are _ always _talking,” Eddie replies, because he can’t help himself. Richie rattles him a little.

“I don’t need you to stab monsters,” Richie says again. “I need you to— to be here with me when I need you, and— fucking raise my kids with me, dumbass. You’re my husband, you’re not fucking Van Helsing. I knew who I was marrying when I married you, and I married one of the bravest fucking people I know, I married someone who fucking left his wife to go to Derry and— Oh, _ and, _ divorced his wife just to fuck a washed-up comedian and have his kids—”

“You’re so stupid,” Eddie says tearfully. Richie kisses him and hugs him again.

“What good are you, Eds?” Richie tightens his hold. “You’re the best, that’s how good you are.”

“You’re _ so _stupid,” Eddie repeats. Richie pulls back to kiss his cheek. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing, fuckwad, it’s three in the morning and we got a fuckload of cooking to do in the morning, go back to sleep,” Richie tells him. Eddie glances at the bassinet. “They’re both asleep.”

“You didn’t even check,” Eddie says.

“Well, Audrey is, and Riley is not shy about making herself known.” Richie pulls Eddie in and kisses him on the eyelid. Eddie assumes he was aiming for his forehead.

“I’m just gonna check on her,” Eddie tells him. Richie lifts his arm, and Eddie wriggles out of bed. “I’ll be right back.”

“Mm,” Richie says. Eddie slips his glasses off for him and sets them on the nightstand. “Love you, Eds.”

“I love you, too, Richie,” Eddie whispers. Richie smiles tiredly at him, and Eddie strokes his hair back from his face before padding over to his side of the bed to check on Audrey in her bassinet. As promised, she’s asleep, her chest rising and falling steadily. He leaves them sleeping side-by-side to go across the hall and check on Riley in the nursery. The little puppy Richie painted on the door is a little freaky in the dark, but he pushes past it to go to Riley in her crib.

“Daddy,” Riley whimpers, as soon as he’s in the room. He flicks on the table lamp near the door and, sure as hell, she’s awake.

“What’re you doing up, hon?” Eddie asks. He shuts the door softly behind himself and goes to her; she lifts her arms, and he scoops her up easily, a practiced move now. She doesn’t answer, just burying her face in his bare shoulder. He sits down in the glider chair with her.

“Mm,” she breathes into his skin. He rubs her back, lets her calm down in the quiet. She doesn’t say anything, just curls into his side and yawns.

“Sleep, sweetheart,” he whispers to her. Her face is pressed above the burn scar of the symbol on his chest, the one he and Richie burnt onto themselves to get her and Audrey. He keeps sliding the glider back and forth; Riley keeps her head turned against his chest. It’s easy, to get lulled by the silence, by her warm weight and steady breathing. Eddie drifts off, too.

He wakes up to Riley patting him on the face, and he startles, jolting upright. Richie’s leaning in the doorway, arms folded across his chest. He’s put sweatpants on at some point and tied his hair up out of his eyes, but, otherwise, he looks just as sleep-rumpled and smiling as he had when Eddie left him the night before.

“Picture perfect,” Richie comments, framing Eddie and Riley between his hands. “I wondered where the fuck you went.”

“Ugh, fuck,” Eddie says, as he tries to stretch. “I can’t fucking sleep in _ chairs—” _

“No shit, you’re seventy years old.” Richie holds out his hands, and Riley stretches towards him. He pushes away from the wall to scoop her up. “Hey, squirt. How’d you sleep?”

“Daddy,” Riley says. Richie kisses her on the cheek loudly, then offers a hand to Eddie.

“Up and at ‘em, Eds, we gotta get the food cooking if we’re gonna be entertaining,” Richie reminds him. “You’re the one who wanted to host Thanksgiving.”

“No,” Eddie says, as Richie hauls him to his feet. “No, _ I’m _ the one who said ‘We should do something for Thanksgiving this year,’ and _ you _are the one who offered up our place to host.”

“You tellin’ me you _ don’t _ want to host?” Richie asks. “But you’ve put so much work in doing absolutely _ nothing _ to prepare—”

“Oh, go fuck yourself,” Eddie says. “You _ know _I can’t cook.”

“Again, I know the man I married.” Richie stops Eddie with a hand on his arm, and Eddie turns back. “Hey. You okay?”

Eddie glances to Riley, but she’s not paying them any mind, busying herself reaching over Richie’s shoulder to tug on a curl of his hair that fell loose from his sloppy tie.

“Better now,” he says honestly. His eyes flicker back up to meet Richie’s. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Oh, you forgot, I asked you to zip it and stop apologizing,” Richie teases, reeling Eddie in to kiss him on the forehead. “Poor thing, so forgetful. Ever since the storm.”

“Shut up,” Eddie shoots back. He lets Richie kiss him on the cheek, the nose, all over his face before he lands on his mouth, laughing the whole time.

“Go put your clothes on, pipsqueak,” Richie murmurs against his lips, kissing him one last time. “Shower so I can shower, I’ll get breakfast ready.”

They have a morning ritual, which is something that used to infuriate him about his life with Myra and something he loves about his life with Richie. He’s been slowly discovering that he hated pretty much everything about his life with Myra, but it was also incredibly easy and comfortable. He had been in a rut, not a rhythm, and everything was simple.

With Richie, _ nothing _is fucking simple. They do have a general pattern, though. Eddie gets up first, so he can work out in the gym in their apartment building. He’ll come back up and shower before he wakes up Richie, and Richie stumbles through showering before he makes breakfast for the four of them. In that time, Eddie gets the girls up, dressed, and the two of them wrestle them through breakfast together.

It’s different on days like this, when Eddie wakes up late and Richie’s got Riley on his hip through breakfast. Eddie follows Richie through the house after his shower, towel wrapped around his waist, scolding him for his breakfast ingredients.

“This is why I don’t let you watch me make food,” Richie complains as he’s putting Riley’s breakfast together on a plastic plate for her.

“Why the _ fuck _ would you make _ anything _with that much salt in it, Richie?” Eddie snaps.

“That is a _ normal _amount of salt,” Richie says. Eddie scoffs, and he starts to reply, but Audrey starts crying down the hallway.

“I got her,” Eddie says, and leaves Richie in the kitchen to fend for himself. Audrey quiets to sniffles when she sees him, and he scoops her up to soothe her. She wipes her face on his bare skin. Eddie sighs.

“I _ just _showered,” Eddie tells her. He gets her scrubbed clean and lets her lay on the bedspread while he changes into his nice clothes. He holds up two sweaters over Audrey. “Which one?”

Audrey doesn’t answer, obviously, but she does shriek at him and motion with her right hand. Eddie takes as an indication that she chose the dark pink sweater in his left hand.

“Good choice,” Eddie tells her. She grins at him, kicking her heels against the mattress. Richie had picked out matching little butterscotch-colored dresses for the girls the week before, Eddie remembers, so he tugs Audrey into hers, in spite of her protests.

“Oh, fuck, that’s adorable,” Richie sighs when he sees her in it. “And _ you. _ Edward _ Kaspbrak. _ Holy _ fuck.” _

“What?” Eddie demands, smoothing the front of his sweater down self-consciously. Audrey fusses against him at the movement.

Richie leaves the juice on the counter to back Eddie up against the wall next to the refrigerator, smiling down at him, cheeks red. He tugs on the collar of Eddie’s sweater. “This. You look amazing.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “You say that about everything I wear.”

“Because you look hot in everything you wear, dumbass.” Richie tips Eddie’s face up, turning in to kiss him sideways so Riley and Audrey don’t bump heads with each other. “Ugh. You’re so tiny. I just wanna eat you.”

“You’re so fucking weird, Richie,” Eddie says, face burning. Richie kisses him on the forehead five times quick in a row, then pulls away.

“Feed our children,” Richie says, “I’m starting dinner.”

“Don’t you need to get dressed?” Eddie asks. Richie pauses with the fridge door open, looking down at himself. He laughs.

“Whoops,” he says. Eddie makes him eat half his plate before he scrambles off to shower and dress himself and Riley, making sure nothing Richie’s already started burns while he’s gone. When he comes back, he’s got Riley all dressed with her hair pulled back. He’s got his own hair pulled back, too.

“See, I think this makes me look like Hozier,” Richie says, dipping his head to let Eddie see his handiwork, “but I have a sneaking suspicion it actually makes me look like that guy from the Jordan’s Furniture ads.”

“His name was Eliot,” Eddie tells him, starting to pull back so he can look Richie over. Richie swoops back in to kiss him.

“How do you know his name?” Richie asks. He steps back, does a little spin.

“Everyone knows his name.”

“Why isn’t it Jordan?”

“Shut _ up,” _Eddie demands. He finally gets to separate enough to look Richie over, and his mouth’s a little dry to look at him. He’s got a dark red blazer on over his broad shoulders, a shirt patterned with hundreds of tiny rainbow dots buttoned up underneath it. Eddie sighs, running his hand down Richie’s chest. The buttons bump up under his palm. “You look nice.”

“Just nice?” Richie asks. Eddie straightens out the lapel on the blazer, brushing a nonexistent piece of lint off his shoulder. He guides Richie into a light kiss.

“You look _ very _nice,” Eddie corrects. He looks pointedly down at Riley, and Richie grins at him.

What he _ actually _wants to say is, “You look very hot and large and it makes me want to climb you like a tree and fuck you on the kitchen island.” He can’t, though, because little pictures have big ears, and Riley’s been repeating a lot of their words lately, and he doesn’t want any of those to come up again during dinner.

“Well, _ thank _you.” Richie kisses him on the cheek, leaning in close to his ear as he does. He drops his voice to a deep, low whisper to say, “The feeling’s mutual.”

Eddie shivers. Richie kisses him on the shell of his ear and pulls back, returning his attention to the pots he’s got bubbling on the stove. There’s a shuffling at the front door, then half a knock, then the sound of a key in the lock and the door opening.

“Perfect timing,” Richie calls.

“What makes you say that?” Bev shouts back.

“He finally got dressed,” Eddie explains.

“Then what do I have left to be thankful for?” Ben asks, clapping Richie on the shoulder when he hugs him.

“You’re such a waste of a straight man,” Richie tells him. “In a perfect world, Ben. You and me.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you, dickhole? You’re just gonna say that in fucking front of me?” Eddie demands. Bev takes Riley out of Richie’s hands, and Richie takes the opportunity to cup Eddie’s face in his hands and smush their noses together. _ “Damn it, _Richie—”

“No matter what jokes I make, you’re always my numero uno, baby.” Richie nuzzles his throat, then kisses him again. Eddie laughs in spite of himself.

_ “Richie,” _he exclaims. Audrey smacks at Richie’s chest, and he laughs, pulling back to scoop her up.

“Hey there, princess,” Richie says. “Oh, your aura’s so _ warm, _baby girl.”

“I still think you’re making up that aura shit,” Eddie tells him, because Richie says a lot of shit like _ “I can feel auras,” _ and _ “I know when the weather’s gonna change,” _ and _ “I think I could learn to fly.” _Eddie knows most of them are just jokes and teasing lies, but some of them, he suspects, have truth to them. Richie can read moods pretty well, but he’s always been kind of good at that.

“And how would you know?” Richie asks. “You read minds now? Actually—”

“I don’t even want to entertain that as a thought,” Eddie says.

“Don’t mind us, we’ll greet ourselves,” Bev comments. Richie laughs, turning away from Eddie, and Eddie just watches him go. The broad stretch of his shoulders, the long lines of his legs, the curve of his smile when he laughs. He has to look away.

“Knock, knock,” Patty calls, head in the doorway. Richie spins away to go to her, too, and Eddie follows him, because he doesn’t have an off switch and following Richie’s constant state of motion today will probably be good for him. Stan takes Audrey from him, kissing her on the nose as soon as he’s got her.

“Be _ careful, _have you even gotten your flu shots yet?” Eddie demands.

“I actually have measles and three different types of plague,” Stan tells him, deadpan. “I want to give it to every baby I meet, _ especially _the ones I love—”

“Alright, _ alright, _I get it, shut the fuck up,” Eddie snaps.

“How is Eddie already arguing with someone?” Mike asks. Richie hugs him, too, and Bill behind him, swinging him around.

“He’s Eddie,” Bill answers, breathless. Richie puts him back down and hugs Georgie behind him, too. “Happy Thanksgiving, Richie.”

“Happy Thanksgiving, Billy-boy,” Richie says back.

“Everyone’s here!” Patty exclaims. Eddie closes their front door and locks it, then considers and bolts it. Old habits.

“I thought we were waiting until dinner,” Stan murmurs. Eddie’s instantly on high alert, and Richie is, too, twisting around to make eye contact with Eddie before he looks back to Stan and Patty.

“I can’t wait, say it now,” Patty insists. Stan’s face is flushed, but he grins at them.

“Happy Thanksgiving, we’re having a baby,” Stan says. Richie doesn’t even hesitate before he’s hugging Patty, spinning her around and kissing her on the cheek.

“It worked,” Patty tells him, laughing as Richie puts her down and lets Bev hug her.

“Congratulations, that’s awesome, how far along are you?” Eddie asks first, feeling weirdly like he’s sweating.

“Three months,” Stan tells him, as Richie hugs him, too. Eddie wishes Richie would hug him. He has no idea why. He still feels like he’s sweating as he’s looking at them. He goes to Bev without thinking and lifts Riley right out of her arms, taking her down the hall to the nursery again.

“Baby?” Riley asks. Eddie sits down in the glider with her again.

“No, just us,” Eddie tells her. “That’s exciting news, hm? You’ll have a… cousin. Or a sibling, kind of. Which is great! That’s great news, that’s…” Eddie trails off. Riley just keeps looking up at him. “I feel weird.”

“Weird,” Riley repeats.

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees. “Super weird. Not sure why.”

“Daddy,” Riley says instead. Eddie looks down at her, at her big dark eyes staring up at him. He rubs his thumb over the long scar on her cheek. She reaches up and touches the scar on his cheek in response.

“Hi, Riley,” Eddie replies. “You’re right. I’m being kind of stupid about this. It’s a stupid thing to feel weird about. This is all stupid.”

“Stupid,” Riley echoes.

“Very stupid.” Eddie looks at her for another second, then pulls her in to hug tightly. She fists her hands in his sweater.

“Are you calling our child stupid?” Richie asks, and Eddie jumps.

“Motherfucker, Richie, do not fucking _ scare me,” _Eddie spits.

“Fucker,” Riley repeats.

“Love when she hits two syllables.” Richie reaches out and beckons to Eddie with seeking fingers. “C’mere.”

Riley stretches her arms up, and Richie meets them halfway. He turns and unexpectedly edges back out into the hallway, passing Riley off to Mike.

“We’ll be right back, thanks,” Richie says. Riley frowns at Eddie over Mike’s shoulder, but she doesn’t put up a fuss when he takes her. Richie leans out the door, shouts, “Keep an eye on my fucking turkey, Michael!”

“It’ll be fine, Richard!” Mike shouts back. Richie slips into the nursery and shuts the door behind himself. He leans against the door, surveying Eddie.

“You wanna tell me what that Irish goodbye was all about?” Richie asks. Eddie sighs, rubbing at the back of his head.

“I’m— not sure?” Eddie offers. Richie raises an eyebrow at him.

“Consider it,” Richie says. Eddie does. He looks Richie over, and thinks about his dream, and Patty, and Neibolt, and Richie’s parents, and his own mother, and Pennywise, and deeper and deeper until he’s got his face buried in his hands. “Hey, babe. You okay?”

“I just want us both to be happy,” Eddie murmurs. He lifts his head again, and Richie’s kneeling next to him now. The color's all gone from his face, and his hand is shaking when he goes to touch Eddie. He doesn't touch him, though, pulls his hands back and keeps them to himself.

“Are you not happy?” Richie asks, looking terrified, his brow furrowed, and Eddie understands. Even Richie's lips are white. Eddie reaches out and cups his face, heart pounding.

“I’m really happy,” Eddie tells him, “I’m so fucking sorry, that’s not what I meant to say at all. I meant I want _ you _to be happy.”

Richie frowns, still looking upset. “Are— _ What? _ I _ am _ happy, Eds. What the fuck are you talking about? Are _ you _ happy, Eddie?”

“Yes, I’m _ happy, _Richie, I just fucked up what I meant to say,” Eddie snaps. “Fucking— I can’t give you— give you kids, or— or protect you from Stan’s fucking head, or even Stan with a knife, God, I couldn’t—”

“Are you still thinking about your dream?” Richie asks. “Eddie, I told you, I’m not upset, and, wait— What do you mean, _ you can’t give me kids?” _ Richie motions aggressively at the room they’re in. “We already have two fucking kids, Eddie. _ Two.” _

“But Patty—” Eddie starts to say.

“Ah.”

_ “What?” _Eddie snaps.

“I thought we talked about this, Eds,” Richie says. He shifts back to sit on the floor, taking Eddie’s hand in his. He runs his thumb over Eddie’s wedding ring. His hands are cold. "Are you— I mean, it's kind of done now, but are you not okay with this?"

"I'm totally fine with it and I'm really fucking excited for Stan and Patty," Eddie snaps.

"Totally sounds like it," Richie says, propping his chin up on Eddie's thigh to look up at him. They're quiet for a long moment before Eddie sighs heavily.

"They're gonna have a baby that looks like you and I can't do that for you," Eddie says, all at once. Richie stands up and pulls Eddie to his feet, then starts dragging him out of the room.

"Where the fuck are we going?" Eddie asks.

"Our room," Richie says, "because I have to show you something."

Eddie lets him pull him, lets Richie push him to sit on the bed while he digs around in the closet. He comes back out with a shoebox. He looks down at it for a long moment, sighs, then comes to sit down next to Eddie, the box in his lap. He hesitates.

"I used to keep this under my bed when I was a kid." Richie puts his hand down on top of the box. Eddie looks at the lid and reads _ property of richie w. tozier, do not open under penalty of death _in long-faded red marker on the top. He recognizes Richie's childhood handwriting. "It was my… I don't know, safe box? It's not really that safe, but it was the one thing I bothered to hide, so anything I wanted to keep went into it."

"That's… Richie, this is really nice, but we have guests over," Eddie reminds him.

"Focus up, Eds," Richie says, "I promise I'm going somewhere with this." He exhales slowly, then looks back down at the box. "What I was _ going _ to say is, anything I wanted to keep went here, which _ includes _anything I wanted to keep secret." He takes the top off the box and sets it aside.

"What's in there?" Eddie asks. Richie waves him off.

"Hey, hey, some things are just for Richie," he laughs. Eddie leans away, gives him space. He watches Richie search through the box for a moment before he pulls out a worn green notebook. It's torn, and stained, and the metal spirals holding it together are broken in a couple spots, but it's still recognizably a notebook.

"What's that?" Eddie asks. Richie runs his thumb over a faded sticker on the bottom corner of the notebook's cover.

"This," Richie says, "is my secret thoughts notebook. I— My brain works too fast. Sometimes I get stuck, and I just— Loop the same thoughts over and over. So, this was my way of getting them out." He smacks the notebook against his palm. "I thought about burning it. I'm glad I didn't, though."

"Why?" Eddie asks quietly. Richie huffs a laugh, then flips the notebook open.

"'May 9th, 1986,'" Richie reads. "'Eddie has beautiful eyes. Even if he's always yelling at me.'"

Eddie reaches out, says, _ "Richie," _but Richie just keeps flipping through the notebook.

"'August 28th, 1988. Eddie runs so fast. He's really strong. His legs look amazing.' 'February 7th, 1990. Eddie asked Joan to go to the Valentine's Dance with him. I hate her. I wish it was me.'"

"Richie—"

"'April 16th, 1990. Eddie held my hand today and I thought about it for hours. I think I'm in love with him. I would do anything to have him love me, too.'" Richie looks down at the page and stops reading. He touches the words carved into the page with blue ballpoint ink with his fingertips and shakes his head, smiling even as Eddie watches him blink tears out of his eyes. They roll down his cheeks to drip off his chin onto the notebook.

"Rich," Eddie says softly. Richie makes a soft sound, then hands the notebook over. Eddie takes it, but he doesn't look at it. Instead, he sets it aside on the bed and turns, drawing one leg up on the mattress so he can face Richie. Richie doesn't move.

"I meant it," Richie tells him. "I would've done anything."

"You did," Eddie says. "Rich, I— You brought me back. I was dead before you."

Richie rubs at his face, says, "Yeah, I guess I did do that."

"I don't just mean the necromancy thing," Eddie says. "Not to gloss over that, but I really was dead before I found you again, Richie."

Richie shakes his head again, so Eddie reaches out and turns his face. He looks different, tidy and clean with his hair so neatly pulled back and the smooth lines of the blazer across his shoulders. His face, though, that's all the same, and it always is; Eddie can take comfort in that, in the expressive eyes and the warm smile and the lines that have become more familiar than the ones on his own face. Richie shifts so he can face Eddie, too. He's not sad, not all the way, but he's still teary-eyed and red-faced.

"That's so fucking cheesy," Richie laughs tearfully. "I just wanted to fucking show you, dickhead. I'm not missing anything, and I'm not fucking unhappy, and you are so much better than anything I ever dreamed of having, Eddie, it's honestly fucking bananas." Richie takes Eddie's hand and, after a long moment, looks up at Eddie's face. "There is nothing I need more than I need you. _ You. _ I don't need— whatever you think I need. Some gigantic guardian husband or— or biological children that have my horrible eyesight, Eddie, I don't _ need _ that. I have you, and Riley and Audrey, and, Eds, fuck, I would not trade that for _ anything, _ do you hear me? _ Nothing." _

"Yeah, I hear you." Eddie shifts forward so he can reel Richie in, pulling him by the collar of his blazer so he can hold him tight. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," Richie tells him. "If you made me apologize every time I felt insecure, Eds, I'd never shut up."

"You already never shut up.”

"I rest my case," Richie says. Eddie falls quiet. He balls his fists up in Richie's soft shirt before he remembers he shouldn't be wrinkling it, then he remembers they _ actively _have people over for Thanksgiving literally right now. He pulls back, rubbing at his face with his sweater sleeves.

"I'm sorry," Eddie says again. "Just— I am happy. I don't want you to think I'm not, _ ever, _okay? That wasn't what I meant to say."

"Okay." Richie stands, pulling at Eddie's hand. Eddie knows what he said will burn in the back of their brains for a while, but he hopes he can show Richie that he _ is _ happy. _ Finally. _ He didn't know what happy _ was _when he didn't have Richie. It seems absurd to him that Richie wouldn't just inherently know that like he does, that every fucking day is better with him in it. "Ready to give some thanks, babe?"

"If I have to," Eddie replies, but lets himself be hauled to his feet despite his words. Richie escorts him back to the kitchen and makes a beeline for Audrey, tossing her up above his head and making Eddie shriek at him. He forks her over, and Eddie takes her, happy to have her warm, grounding weight. He wonders if that was Richie's plan the entire time. Audrey buries her face in his sweater and Eddie doesn't really care if it was a plan, he's just glad to have her.

"Hey," Stan says. Eddie takes a second to gather himself before he looks up. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Eddie answers. "I'm so happy for you. I'm excited to be an uncle."

"Being a dad is _ exhausting," _Richie adds, draping his arm across Eddie's shoulders. "Time for me to spend time with a kid I can give back." He taps his glasses, then says to Stan, "Sorry about all the optometrist trips you're gonna be making, Stan the Man."

"Worth it," Stan says, and the warm grin he gives Richie isn't one Eddie's sure he's even seen before. Richie grins right back like it's nothing new, but then he rattles Eddie a bit, kissing the top of his head.

"Time for someone to help me make biscuits," Richie says, kissing Eddie's temple when he tips his head. Eddie hands up Audrey, and Richie laughs. "Someone with object permanence would be preferable, but maybe that's on me for being picky."

"I'll help you," Patty volunteers, and Richie steals her, then ropes Ben, Georgie, and Mike into helping them, too. Eddie drifts to the kitchen table instead, and Bill joins him.

“Hey,” Bill says, taking a seat beside him. He holds out his hands and, after a beat of hesitation, Eddie passes Audrey over to him. “You know what I’m thankful for this year?”

“Aren’t you supposed to wait until we’re actually eating?” Eddie asks. “I think we still have, like, half an hour.”

“Speaking of,” Richie shouts over to them, “Eddie, Bill, start setting the table if you’re not going to be useful.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m so massively unhelpful when I’m watching _ our _children,” Eddie shoots back.

“Bill has Audrey and Mike has Riley, I don’t know what the fuck you’re complaining about.” Richie tosses a grin at Eddie over his shoulder. Eddie flips him off in return and scoots back off the table bench.

“He said _ Eddie and Bill,” _Eddie reminds Bill pointedly. Bill smiles and passes Audrey off to Stan before following Eddie out to the dining room table. He helps him put the leaf in silently, but once they’re laying the tablecloth out, Eddie fussing with the tiniest wrinkles at the edges, Bill finally seems to snap.

“You never guessed,” Bill says.

“What?” Eddie asks absently, smoothing out the tablecloth near the right edge again. “Motherfucking thing never sits right.”

“What I’m thankful for this year,” Bill clarifies. Eddie gives up on the tablecloth to look up at Bill instead, curious.

“What’re you thankful for?” Eddie asks.

“You guys,” Bill says.

“Sappy.”

“It’s true,” Bill tells him. “I mean it. And not in a— a stupid schmaltzy way.”

“I’ve read your new book, I _ know _you mean it in a stupid schmaltzy way,” Eddie replies. “Wonder what got Bill Denbrough, notorious sad-ending-writer, writing such a romantic book—”

“Hey, zip it, this isn’t about me,” Bill says.

“It is a little.”

“A little,” Bill allows. “I missed you all so much. I— I missed you _ so _much, Eddie. In between and then when you— Uhh.”

“Died,” Eddie supplies.

“Died,” Bill repeats. “Yeah, when you died. I’m really happy you’re back, Eds. And Stan, and _ Georgie, _fuck, there’s not enough—” Bill laughs wetly. Eddie stops setting plates down on the table, takes a moment to gear up, then looks up at Bill. Sure enough, he’s crying. “Shit, Eddie, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, I get it, Bill, it’s fine.” Eddie sets the plates down and goes to Bill without hesitation, lets Bill wrap him up and hug him tightly.

“I’m so sorry we left you, Eddie,” Bill says into Eddie’s neck. Eddie rubs his back. “We had to get out of there, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Eddie tells him, and Bill just fucking bursts open, sobbing into his neck. Eddie keeps rubbing his back and, when Richie peeks his head around the corner, he beckons to him. Stan’s not far behind him, and they fold around Bill, too.

“Hey, Big Bill,” Richie says quietly. Bill huffs a wet laugh.

“What’s wrong?” Stan asks.

“Nothing,” Bill tells them. Eddie leans his head into Stan’s, looks up at Richie through the curls of Stan’s hair in his eyes. Richie smiles a little at him, squeezes Bill a bit tighter.

“I’ve known you all way too fucking long,” Richie announces.

“Forty years,” Stan says.

“I can tell who’s who with my eyes closed by how you fucking _ smell,” _Richie says. “Fucking insane. Not that I’m about to suggest any time apart, mind you, on this holiest of days.”

“Fuck, sorry, happy Thanksgiving,” Bill says, wiping at his eyes. Eddie pulls back, and Bill rubs at his face with the ends of his sleeves once he has enough space to do it. “Sorry, we were setting the table—”

“You’re fine, Bill,” Richie tells him. He leans back against the table, folds his arms over his chest. “Wanna share with the class?”

“I’m just so happy we’re all here now,” Bill tells them. Richie drops an arm around Bill’s shoulders and pulls him in to hug from the side.

“Me, too, buddy,” Richie says. “Just wasn’t the same without those two dipshits, was it?”

“Hey, fuck you,” Eddie snaps. Richie grins at him.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you three,” Stan tells them, voice soft and deeply genuine. Richie groans.

“Alright, pull it back in, hug me again,” Richie orders. Eddie and Stan both grumble while Bill laughs, but they collapse in towards him anyways, become a standing tangle of limbs and hair and hands. Eddie loses himself in it, feels comforted all over again, safe and warm and alive.

“Your oven beeped, Richie!” Georgie calls from the kitchen.

“My fucking _ turkey,” _Richie spits, shoving out of the group hug to sprint back towards the kitchen. Eddie glances back towards the table.

“Help us set the table, Stan?” Eddie suggests.

“Anything to avoid having to help with the stuffing,” Stan says, taking the stack of cloth napkins Bill passes to him. Between the three of them, it’s easy work, and they’re done minutes before Mike brings Audrey in and passes her off to Eddie.

“Dinnertime,” he announces, before he turns to Bill. He must be able to read in the red around Bill’s eyes that he’d been crying, because he reaches out and takes his hand, reels him in. Eddie hears him ask softly, “Hey, what happened?,” so he turns away and pretends he can’t hear, busying himself with arranging the silverware at the setting next to him. He holds Audrey against his chest in one hand, bounces her slightly. She’s quiet there, settled.

“Bon appétit!” Richie declares, spinning into the room with plates lined up his arms like a waiter in a physical comedy bit that was about to spill everything. Miraculously, he gets it all on the table, then shouts, “C’mon, Georgie, let’s go!”

Georgie’s actually the last one in, and Eddie takes his seat at the end of the table opposite Richie when people start seating themselves. Audrey just rests on his leg, head leaning against his chest, fists curled up against his sweater as she watches everything. When Georgie does come in, though, he’s the one with the turkey, and Richie beams at him so brightly it’s a wonder they don’t all go blind.

“Good work, Georgie,” Richie tells him. Georgie flushes with the praise, sets the turkey down and sits at Richie’s left hand. Richie looks out over them, makes eye contact with Eddie for a brief moment. They’re all waiting for him to speak, since he’s standing there at the opposite head of the table looking at them all, but he still takes the opportunity to smile at Eddie and wink at him.

Riley fusses, from Bev’s hands, and Richie holds his arms out to her. She goes, and Richie hoists her up so she’s eye-level with him, her knees securing her against his chest as she grips his blazer in a tight grip. She looks out over them, too, so Eddie waves. She waves back, then drops her head on Richie’s shoulder. Richie lifts his water glass up off the table with his free hand and holds it up in the air.

“Anyone got a good toast?” he asks, and Ben groans, laughing.

“To new beginnings?” Bill suggests.

“Ever the author,” Bev comments.

“To starting over,” Stan offers instead.

“Beginning again,” Patty amends.

“To us,” Eddie says. Everyone looks to him, then raises their glasses.

“To us,” Richie echoes, and they all repeat him, but Richie just raises his glass again slightly to Eddie before he takes a sip and sets it back down on the table. “Now, then, time for my _ delicious _ fucking meal, which you better all appreciate _ deeply.” _

Georgie’s the first one in action, slamming mashed potatoes down his throat like he hasn’t eaten in years. Eddie shoves down the uncomfortable cold feeling that slithers down his spine when he remembers Georgie actually _ hasn’t _gotten to eat in years, because he’s been dead, just like Eddie was, but he forces the thought out of his mind. Instead, he looks at Georgie’s living face, at him breathing, the flush of his cheeks and the sound of his laughter when Richie cracks a joke while Georgie still has a mouthful of potatoes.

Audrey fusses in his lap, shifting to grab at his sweater and yank on him. Eddie bounces her on his leg, and she settles, folding up into him once she’s content again. Ben leans into his space, laughing and stealing a biscuit from the basket closest to Eddie. Eddie looks out over the table, sees Richie trying and failing to convince Riley to eat a carrot, sees Georgie and Bill laughing at a joke Patty just made, sees Stan and Mike conspiring together in low voices, sees Bev steal half of Ben’s biscuit, sees Ben kiss her for it. He smiles and reaches out one hand.

“Pass me the fucking turkey before I go apeshit,” Eddie demands.

“You heard the man!” Richie exclaims. “Send him the turkey! Let him ascertain for himself whether or not he married the right man.”

“Oh, I’ve already got an answer for that one,” Eddie says, accepting Stan’s help to set the turkey plate down near him one-handed. When Eddie glances up at him, Richie’s smiling so warmly he’s momentarily taken off-guard.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Eds,” Richie says down the table.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Rich,” Eddie replies. He smiles back, then says, “Get your motherfucking elbows off the table, set an example for your children, Jesus Christ.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can (and should!) talk to me on Twitter at [@nicolelianesolo!](https://twitter.com/nicoIodeon)


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